


we'll get you a new jacket

by sciencemyfiction



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: OT3 there if you squint, post-TFA wrap-up I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencemyfiction/pseuds/sciencemyfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers of course!</p><p>Poe and Finn get ready to tackle recovery, while Rey goes forth intending not to act as messenger to the Resistance, but for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll get you a new jacket

Before she left, Poe had had the great fortune to meet Rey, really get to know her: they both sat watch over Finn's bed, two hungry-eyed guard dogs waiting for the return of a beloved friend with worry and hope until they finally caught scent of each other, and went to investigate. Their conversations were quick and quiet, both not wanting to wake Finn early, both not sure what to say to him. Poe could only watch his bedside at night, busy with duties around the base during the day; Rey had the skill for repairs, could have helped out, but wasn't known and didn't offer, and so she kept watch when Poe was not there in a mutual agreement of theirs to be sure Finn would have one of them with him when he woke. 

Discussion spiraled around about whether Poe or some other pilot should be the official representative to Luke Skywalker and the Jedi, and General Organa very nearly assigned him the mission, saying she trusted Poe and, more kindly, that he'd gotten the job done before so of course, it was his right to see this thing through. General Organa was not herself, however, given the loss she was shouldering-- both of her partner and of her son, whose actions were known all too well to her-- so Poe supposed it was reasonable that she didn't understand what she was asking of him. 

But Rey did. 

Rey was the one who came up to him late-night, while he was drowsing by Finn's bedside, fiddling with the stitching on a fitted leather jacket that he'd once considered his favorite. Now its little battle-scars were a depressing reminder of Finn's grave injuries, and even the knowledge that their friend was on his road to recovery didn't really brighten Poe's mood. 

"I'll go instead," Rey said, instead of letting him know she had sneaked up on him. He jumped a little, and put a hand to his chest when he realized who she was, drooping noticeably. 

"Well,  _now_ I'm awake. What do you mean you'll go instead?"

"To the temple. To Skywalker. I'll go."

Poe's fingers shook a little, and he had to set down the now-mended coat, thumbing the stitches he'd been tightening up, watching her face for any sign of doubt or anger or deception. He found stubbornness, and need: she had business to take care of there, too. Selfishness, Poe was no stranger to. Everybody had to find their own way to motivate themselves, and having a goal that coincided with those of others was, in his experience, one of the best ways to get people to work together in the first place. 

But he saw kindness in her too, and how she looked over at Finn, back at him, and almost smiled. 

"You sure?" He caught himself, and clarified, a little awkwardly. "Not-- that I doubt your ability as a pilot for a second, mind you. You've got Chewie's vote, that's good enough for me."

"Someone needs to be here for Finn," Rey told him, even though he knew she knew he was fully aware of that necessity. "Someone needs to give you a chance to rest."

Just a little, Poe felt vulnerable. Rey was such a young woman, a little younger than him, even, and yet he could feel her looking through him, into him like she saw his whole life story in a glance. 

It wasn't a good feeling, but it wasn't bad, either. And even with as little as he'd seen of her, he liked her. Finn liked her, too-- that was, doubtless, part of why Poe felt the way he did, he supposed. Not a lot to that. 

"You should bring something warmer to wear, then," he suggested, turning back to Finn to show that he wasn't going to challenge her decision. "Place you're going, doesn't look like it's a desert. You're dressed way too light."

 

\--

 

"Y're jacket's all burned up," Finn mumbled, when Poe Dameron came to visit him in the infirmary and caught him up on what was happening around the base. "Right down the back. M'sorry."

It was bright in the room, at least it felt bright to Finn, but he could feel everything so clear it didn't matter that he could barely see. He felt hypersensitive after the scalding pain of the lightsaber slicing down his spine in the woods: He could feel the fabric of the gown they'd put over him while he was healing, softer than anything, light as air; he could feel the soft push of wind sneaking in from outside, cool and laced with the smell of fresh water, sweet burning wood-- something with thick, sugary sap; and he could feel Poe's leathery hand holding his, squeezing it slightly as if to say  _that's the last of what I care about right now, what the hell are you saying about the jacket._

Finn could feel that, too, that little thought beneath the surface, even though Poe's face was calm and cool, like always, brown and wrinkled at the corners of his eyes from smiling. The how and why of his ability to sense what Poe was feeling, Finn didn't question too much-- he didn't really feel up to it. 

"I heard you went up against Kylo Ren, that's how you got all those fancy new scars," Poe said instead, and his thumb was tight around Finn's hand, as if afraid to lose him. There was a weird dark fear in the way he said Ren's name, but Finn couldn't make heads or tails of it. He had so many questions and nothing was really coming out exactly like he wanted it. "You okay?"

"We're still here," Finn said, a little flippantly and a little jubilant, "so we won, right?"

"Yep. Well. We stopped the Starkiller, anyway."

That was enough for Finn at the moment, and he smiled. Poe's hand stayed tight on his though, and the foggy sensation of painkillers and lingering exhaustion from healing ebbed enough for him to ask, "Is Rey around?"

Poe hesitated, and then that feeling of connectedness sort of slipped away as he took back his hand, running it through his curly hair. Finn thought distractedly that he ought to get a haircut, himself. Maybe they could help him with that before they let him out of the infirmary. Or had they already taken care of it, part and parcel of the medical care here in the Resistance headquarters. If they'd fixed him, though, perhaps they'd fixed the clothes he was wearing too, rendering his apology about the jacket irrelevant, possibly-- His focus was terrible. Had Poe answered him?  
  
"Did I miss an answer? I think my mind wandered off."

This time, Poe laughed, and tested Finn's temperature with the back of his hand (pleasantly cool to the touch) on Finn's forehead. "Yeah, you did. I'll tell you again, though. Rey went as our messenger to speak with Luke Skywalker. I'm...not really clear on how long that might take, but it sounds like she's planning to come back, and she should be safe."

Finn let himself breathe easier, and closed his eyes a moment. He felt a little like he'd known that she was okay, though, and that was why he'd asked where she was, and not whether she was safe. Which-- come to think of it was a little strange. Last he'd seen her they'd both been in that forest, hadn't they? Seconds from death at Kylo Ren's hands. How had they gotten out of that? "That's good. Good! Glad to hear it."

"Want to rest some more? Or are you up for a little assisted tour of the cafeteria?" Poe asked, and Finn was grateful to him for pulling him back out of that half-memory. Even if the injuries hadn't been fresh and still somewhat painful, the match with Ren had rattled his confidence and left him sorely uncertain whether he would be able to properly focus in future battles. Finn didn't want to think about it much at the moment. 

"I'm starved," he half-joked, and Poe laughed, helping him carefully get to his feet. "You sure it's all right? I'm not gonna pop open stitches or anything, right?"   
  
"They told me you're safe for light activity. But you let me know if anything feels weird and I'll carry you right back here."

 

\--

 

This world is lush and beautiful, a balm on her soul after the desolate cold wasteland, and before that the unending heat of home on Jakku. And just like the world where Finn now lies resting, and the world where she saw the beautiful trader's hall smashed to bits by TIE fighters and blaster fire, Rey is overwhelmed by a dizzying desire never to leave this place. It's a cruel and wicked thing, the Force, for it lets her feel how dead and alone her world was, though she knew it for the patches of alive, bright beating hearts, the things and people who she lived beside, worked beside. She struggled there all her life, waiting and working, making do with less and less, less and less, until she had been subsisting on memories and half-portions, delirious and determined only that she must not die, not yet. 

Well, she has not died, and she has now seen the wakefulness, the wisdom and vivacity of worlds that swirl richly, green and blue, that bear flocks of brilliantly colored birds, and sticky warm wet air. She has witnessed people feast and call it a normal meal, and she has seen the joy of life that is for others so commonplace, while it remains (and will always remain) to her, astonishingly rare and precious. And she has watched her friends fight and fall, all in a quick, murderous, messy rush, first Han and then Finn. 

And she saw the haunting hungry cloak of rage that wore the mask of Kylo Ren; she saw it, saw how it could be herself. She had shrugged it off, then, because she was not angry. She did not have anyone to be angry for. She did not have the desire to hate her absent parents, or the circumstances of her life. She did not judge those who had failed or left her, for they had had no choice in their deaths or injury. 

She had pitied Kylo Ren, who can never now not be the man who killed his own father, who must live with that. And she had seen through him and into the shallow cage of his selfish, confused heart, and bested him. 

Rey does not want this life, this burden, this task. She does not want this duty to balance the universe, these powers, this sorrow. She does not want Finn lying on a medical bed, his spine knitting back together while Poe Dameron worriedly fiddles with BB-8, nor General Organa softly comforting Chewbacca after dark, telling stories of the old times. 

The wind is strong on this hill, and it billows in Luke Skywalker's cape. She can see he feels it all: the billions of lives, winked out on five different worlds all at once. The millions more dead in the remnants of the horrible weapon she helped to stop. The loss of Han Solo. Her fear, her anguish. She's holding out the terrible weapon he  _left for her_ , she's holding it out and begging him in silence to take it back, take this burden, take it all away. Let her have  her simple, horrible life on Jakku, let her live in pain and solitude but without so much of her primed to  _feel._ Let her have back the life she had made, even if it wasn't a good life. 

Just  _take it back._ _  
_

And he shakes his head, just slightly, because the pain she feels is the pain he feels, and they are both so alike it hurts her lungs. 

"I was frightened to meet you," he says. His voice is raspy with age, his metal-clawed hand a ghostly cold ache on her own, like a reflection. The wind soars, spiraling high and sending tufts of grass and dandelions cartwheeling through its currents and eddies, flashing in the sky. She looks up into a soft blue gentled with cottony clouds and when the sun glimmers over the waves of this world, tears prick at her eyes. Rey stubbornly sniffs them back, doesn't let them fall. 

If he will not take this from her, she will not bow her head to it. She will meet it face-forward, ready and waiting. 

"For so long, I was frightened to meet you."

"I would rather not have met you," Rey tells him, honestly. "but we cannot always have what we want, can we?"

"No."

They stand on guard for several minutes more, and she can feel him cobbling together social skills and congeniality not necessary for a man used to solitude for so many years, working to find the place to take the conversation next from where it has been. Rey wonders, did the visions she saw in Skywalker's past have aught to do with her, with what she is here for now? Should she speak of them, or denounce them as unimportant? Should she do nothing?

"Right now," he says at last, stepping forward as she lowers her hand, accepting the lightsaber and all that it represents. "Right now, let's go inside the temple, and introduce ourselves. There is much to learn, and little time."

She flounders, knowing she should mention the Resistance, Organa-- maybe even Finn, or Poe, or the desperate situation that had led to Han's gruesome fate-- and says, "I should tell you--"

"Leia will still be there if we wait," Luke says, waving one hand to cast those worries aside. "Time to train will not."

So Rey pulls her grey shawl around her shoulders against the cold of the wind coming in strong off the ocean, briny and wild, and follows him into a place no other living person has stepped for many centuries. Rey did not ask to leave her homeworld, or to become aware of the Force and its movements-- but circumstances have contrived to bring her here. She will not let herself risk the lives of those she cares about by shirking her responsibility now.

 


End file.
